


girl you're trouble

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, F/M, Forest Sex, Fucking Machines, Humanstuck, Multi, Oral Sex, Restraints, Semi-Public Sex, Sex while gaming, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-08-23 22:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: The cool thing about dating guys who could get away with hitting on your mom? They have their shittogether, they're not using you as a mother substitute or emotional dumping ground or a "not like other girls" stopover, and hell, the sex? It is absolutely fuckingphenomenal. Or maybe even phenomenal fucking? You're not sure.Either way, this shit? It's great. You can put all three of them in a group chat and watch them makeschedulesinstead of whipping out their dicks for a measuring contest....actually, that gives you an idea. You're gonna have to check up on that one later.





	1. that predawn glow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizardlicks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardlicks/gifts).

> "Feferi/(Signless, Dualscar, or Psii, filler's choice)
> 
> Feferi is a girl that knows what she's wants out of a relationship, and that's a stable fella that's got the younger years drama well out of the way, and isn’t gonna burden her with an overabundance of exhausting emotional labor. Someone more refined. DILFs. Feferi is into those silver foxes.
> 
> No cheating/cucking side plots, the guys are either unpartnered or their honeys are A-okay with sharing. No D/lg kink, but emphasis on size difference is yes."
> 
> yeah so I chose all three kthxbye

You've got a date at ass o'clock AM tomorrow, a lunch date at noon, sharp, and then a dinner and a show, if your pretty, floral scheduling book isn't lying. You're reasonably sure that it isn't lying, just as you're reasonably sure that you neither _owned_ a pretty floral scheduling book before today (or last night? this morning? fuck!!), nor wrote in that style of handwriting.

There's not much else to do here but roll over in bed and fire off a text to the culprit.

Feferi: A planner?? Seriously??

Seiche: You're a busy girl with a lot on your plate, princess. Harass me about it tomorrow, we both need to get some sleep. <3

Feferi: You're lucky you're so cute.

Feferi: <3

* * *

Your alarm goes off at Before Ass O'Clock, and you slam the OFF button, instead of hitting snooze. You've paid your dues, with years and years of five AM swim practices and water polo, and you are going to _sleep._

Unfortunately for you, your morning date knows exactly what you're like, which is why, at ass o'clock sharp, you feel a warm hand settle on your cheek. You're still hazy and drifting, but Adaiki strokes soft skin back to full warmth, then leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, your neck, your jaw—

Fuck. Fuck. Goddammit. It's cheating to wake you up like this.

You respond with a grumpy moan, and pull the covers up over your face. It's a tried and true tactic (usually) which completely fails to work on this guy. Previous datemates, all genders alike, would cave and come cuddle, allowing you a blissful hour more of sleep (minimum) and a waking time of your leisure.

Apparently, dating a fucking DILF has its downsides.

He rolls the covers back and laughs, pressing his forehead to yours. "It's time to wake up, Feferi."

When sticking him with a baleful glare fails (he raises an eyebrow, continuing to look pleasantly amused), you give in with bad grace and sit up, right into his arms. "I don't know why I agreed to this. Clearly you caught me in a moment of weakness!"

"And here I thought you were the one who mentioned wanting to rework your workout schedule?"

"_Clearly_ I was temporarily insane." Past Feferi, for all her faults, had the good sense to leave you a running outfit out, though, and you strip out of your pajamas then and there, enjoying Adaiki's blush. "When do we eat? Do you already have a route picked out?"

"After the run, and I have an idea or two, yes." He's already dressed, in a running outfit that inexplicably puts you in mind of Captain America—okay, it's perfectly explicable. Adaiki Vantas is _hot_, and the cut sleeves show that off greatly to his benefit. He's also absolutely fucking adorable when he's all blushy and flustered, and you decide to take thorough advantage of that, as you twist your hair up into a high ponytail. "Ready to go?"

"Let me brush my teeth at least!"

"And how do I know you won't go back to sleep—hey!" Laughing, he finally leaves you: Exeunt, pursued by pillow.

When you meet him in the little kitchen of your one bedroom, he's still grinning, seated at the counter and looking happily serene. "Ready to go?"

"I hope you get shin splints," you grumble, hip checking him out of the way to get to the door.

* * *

Morning grumps aside, it doesn't take long for him to tease you out of your funk. Adaiki is genuinely _good_ to be around, a center of solace and calm (right up until he's not) with warmth and wit to back it up. Keeping things to a light forest jog gives you the opportunity to enjoy his company and him the opportunity to sing as you go. Not something you thought you'd be into, but the way his voice rolls out into the world, curling on the wind and bounding off the trees, is more than enough to make you reconsider your kinks.

And, possibly, your reasons for wearing shorts that tight.

Another of Adaiki's talents: Finding ways off the beaten path, where other travellers are unlikely to go. You'd grabbed his hand, just before he'd called the end of your rest break, and hauled him deeper into the woods—then let him take over the chase, once he realized what you were up to. For you, it was less about journey at times like these, and more about the getting him to a private, quiet, make out place.

"This isn't what I had in mind when we were talking about your exercise routine, you know," he says between kisses. He's amused. You're rolling your eyes.

"You're really expecting me to believe that?" You'd crowded him up against the tree—or, he'd let you, he's still got a head on you, and broad shoulders, and you've _seen_ him lift weights—to kiss him like this, even if it means you're practically up on your toes. "I mean—"

He cuts you off with his mouth and a hand on your ass, pulling you flush against him, his running gear far too thin to hide any sign of his arousal. "I didn't plan for the interlude on the trail," Adaiki admits, his other hand tangled into your ponytail, "but I should have, and next time, I will."

You flash him a grin, a bright and wild laugh, as he scoops you up in his arms and presses you back against a different tree (you'd wondered how picky he would be, the last time the two of you did this, he spent a good five minutes extra trying to find a smooth barked tree), tugging your shorts up with one hand. "So there's going to be a next time?"

"If you have a say."

Playing at horrified, you gasp—and then gasp again, as he drags a fingertip over your underwear. "Are you telling me you don't _like _having sex in the middle of the woods?"

"I didn't say that, but I _am_ going to say that we both have perfectly nice beds. And that waterfall pools are much more aesthetically pleasing." He knows you well enough to sense the oncoming clever retort, which you're assuming is the only reason why he chooses that moment to give your self-control a little push: A thumb on your clit, and two fingers, just teasing at your entrance in an almost intolerable way. Your attempts to shift around in his arms, hoping for more attention or a better angle, are very well foiled by the way he has you pinned. "Impatience is rarely rewarded, my dear."

You try a little whimper, hoping to play off some sympathies, but it's a hair too late. Instead, he works you to the very edge and leaves you there while he carefully pushes his own pants and underwear down. You're holding out hope for a change of heart, a miracle, _something_, but you had reckoned without Adaiki's penchant for teasing you: Despite the temptation you're _definitely_ presenting, all he does his settle his dick _against_ your body and start sliding himself up and down, covering the length of it in your slick and edging you even further along.

"Y, you, you're—you—"

"It's always cute when you go speechless," he observes, and drags his teeth across the delicate skin of your throat. "Perhaps I ought to wait until you're entirely incoherent, hm?"

The worst part of this is knowing that he'd do it, too. None of your usual tactics work here, so you try for a different one—instead of challenging him again, you hook your ankles over his shoulders and give him a desperate, pleading look.

And his grip on you tightens as he sinks home, burying himself _properly_ between your thighs.

Victory surges through you, and you lean in for a fierce kiss as Adaiki fucks you, each thrust sending another rustle up through the leaves, the shivers of your body echoed back by the tree. It's fucking _hot_, and you make a mental note to try this—letting go, asking him to take control without words, letting him take care of you the way he wants to—more often.

Maybe.

You'll see.

* * *

Post run treat is a stop at his farmer's market for a late-ish breakfast (by his terms, at least, you personally think not-quite-nine-in-the-morning is a perfectly acceptable time to be eating a meal), and Adaiki treats you for a "job well done", and for taking your exercise routine seriously. It's a glowing feeling, basking in the warmth of his approval, and the sun-dried tomato basil quiche you split helps. Dessert is a sweet berry tart, and you tuck yourself into his side as you eat it, enjoying the taste and the company.

"So what do you think, hm? More running tomorrow?"

"...we'll work up to that," you say, taking another bite of the pastry and stealing his milk for a sip.


	2. the warmth of an afternoon

Your lunch date is decidedly less healthy and decidedly more amusing. Elouan orders takeout from one of his many favorite restaurants (he keeps the brochures of his favorites tacked to a corkboard, adds notations, commentary, and rankings in an elaborate system that you're barely starting to understand, and is widely considered by the local community to be _the_ critic to check when it came to, well, anything) and sets up for a game of _Mario Kart_.

You toss yourself down onto the couch and sprawl out luxuriously as he fiddles with controllers. "Oh thank god for sitting. And couches. And _not_ running uphill."

"Found out Adaiki wasn't kidding about the schedule, huh?"

"You could've _warned_ me," you whine, rolling onto your stomach and kicking one of his many throw pillows off the couch. "He made me stretch while lecturing me about _shin splints_."

"Pretty sure I made a valiant and vain attempt," he replies, running through the gaming system's standard checks. It's kind of cute, how he insists on doing diagnostics on any machine he hasn't booted up in more than a week. "Also sure you were convinced you could 'talk' him out of it."

The next pillow sails right for his head and only misses because he ducks, probably expecting some kind of retaliation. "Okay, one, shut up, and two, I _talked_ him into a break partway through, so it still counts!"

"In the forest? _Very_ kinky, Peixes."

"Not like we haven't done _worse_," you tell him, then flush pink when you remember the different ways that could be taken. Okay. So. Maybe you're still considering the idea of a three- or foursome. Sort of. Possibly.

It's not like they're not all friends anyway.

Luckily for you, he's been distracted by the system he's working with. One less thing for him to tease you about, one more thing for you to think about later. Solo. In your bed.

Actually, scratch that, you're probably not going to be getting much solo time for the rest of today.

As if he's heard your thoughts, Elouan plops down on the couch, narrowly avoiding you in a way that tells you he did it on _purpose_, and you attempt to shove him back off the couch in response. "Hey _ow_," is your new victory cry, and you lean down to kiss his cheek and get his hair and the upper part of his ear instead. "I see how it is. Claimed the entire couch for yourself, huh?"

"Sore muscles need space to breathe," you tease, but shift over to make space for him anyway. "So what do I get when I kick your ass?"

"A handicap," he says, and you snort. Elouan's never had trouble thinking his own jokes are funny. "Yeah, good luck with that."

* * *

After your third successful victory lap around Rainbow Road, you find out that he's not actually kidding.

"Gloves? Seriously?"

"I'm not giving you an advantage over your handicap by getting my hands slippery or sticky," he says, and you shiver as the lube-coated latex runs over your clit. His first finger pushes easily in, and you have to brace your hands on his shoulders, biting down on your lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction. "Besides, you're into it. See? Only some of that's lube, Feferi."

"Oh, bite me," you retort, then yelp when he actually _does_. His idea of a handicap's turned out to be you in his lap (on his dick) while you play a round, and he's _insisted_ on prepping you first. While his argument was that he's trying to be a gentleman, you are _very_ well aware that he's intending to get you worked up. "Hurry up already—"

A second finger pushes in beside the first, and you twist spirals into the fabric of his shirt. It makes him laugh, and he leans in to press a kiss to your stomach, your hip, your thigh, his fingers going still and slow—

"Don't _stop_," you mumble, and try not to look at the triumph in his eyes. "Just—come on, already, I want to get back to beating you at your own video game—"

"Of course," he says, and both fingers curl up inside of you, hard enough to make you moan. When he can easily fit in a third, he pulls them all out and tugs the glove off, helping you turn around nice and slow. "Need help?"

"_No._" Maybe. But you're not going to take it! Instead, you brace on his knees and lower your hips, inch by steady inch, until he's fully settled inside of you. "S, see?"

"Quite well, thank you." It's not your imagination that paints his voice a little strained, and you feel your own little flicker of triumph as you squirm around in the name of getting "comfortable" while he sets you both up for the next track. "That's the strategy you're going with? Really?"

You laugh, leaning back against his shoulder to let him see your smug satisfaction. His mock outrage is absolutely adorable. "I don't think I need a better one than that to beat you!"

"Oh _ho_. Alright then. We'll make this interesting."

Uh. Oh. Shit.

Okay, maybe you're a _tiny_ bit screwed.

"Interesting how, exactly? I'm not agreeing to anything until I know what you have planned." Deciding on a character is a little bit harder with something that, well, _hard_ between your thighs, and you lean back against his chest, trying not to pant.

"If I win, I get to try out one of my new toys on you, sight unseen."

He can feel you tense up around him, you know, because he leans further forward against you and presses his mouth against your shoulder. It's always been the way he hides his moans, and it's nearly enough to distract you from your first reaction—tensing up, because you _know_ his box (chest, closet, practically a _second room_) of toys is...well. Large. "...sight unseen for me, or are you going to just reach in and grab whatever hits your hand first?"

"For you. I definitely had a particular item—a couple of particular items, even—in mind." Now he's dragging that same mouth up your shoulder, throat, and along your jaw. He's a tease (but that's probably fair, given how much of a tease you are, too), and he's awful, and you are considering kicking his ass. "So what do you say?"

"What do I get _when_ I win?"

You know Elouan damn well, and you know his contemplative hum is fake. He already knows exactly what prize he's going to offer you, and, as it is every other time, it's something tempting enough to make you accept a challenge even when you know you can't win it. In _this_ case, you absolutely know you can win, so when he says: "I'll ask you nicely to peg me." you _leap_ at the chance.

What? He's never minded you pegging him, but _you_ are usually the one suggesting it. A girl knows what she likes! "Ask nicely or beg?"

"Dealer's choice," he says, and bucks up into you at the _exact_ same moment he hits start on the game. Oh, fuck him. It is _on_.

Your speed suffers somewhat, every time he jerks his hips up, and that's saying absolutely nothing of your basic control. He'd picked a set of tracks that the two of you usually crushed easily, but it seemed like neither of you were up to your usual par. Or something. You still didn't get golf, like, at _all_. 

But hell, you were holding your own—tightening up around him proved a good distraction, and if you timed it right, with just a _little_ roll of your hips, you could get him to swear and his go-cart to stutter—and gaining ground. As far as you knew, this was a one and done (listen, you didn't have time for repeated challenges and a best two out of three today), which meant that you were well within your rights to go all out.

"Hey, Feferi," he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear. You shiver with the effort it takes to keep your eyes on the track, and _still_ manage to make a curious noise in reply. "I'm not actually gonna be sorry about this."

"Wh—" is all you get out before he shifts forward, hard enough that you're almost toppling onto the soft cushions he'd covered the floor with after you'd kicked him off the couch. You're momentarily grateful that he doesn't have a coffee table, while also desperately trying to maintain control of your go-cart, and then he's pressed up against your back and fucking into you hard.

You're going to kill him for this, later, because not only does his dirty tactic make you _lose_, he doesn't even finish inside of you or let you get off.

Absolute _bastard_. Horrible man.

* * *

Your opinion of how awful he is ends up being revised to "literally terrible, bane of your existence, actual hellspawn" once you see what new toy he's picked out for you. While you've known that he's into tinkering for a _while_, his various experiments with what he could make apparently have had no bearing on the sense of what he probably _shouldn't_ make.

Case in point: The machine currently sitting (standing?? You don't know the lingo) before you, like a threatening sort of robotic...sex bot. Sure. You're totally great at words, and that is some kind of threatening, demonic, sex machine.

Oh right. They're called fuck machines. You totally knew that, and definitely did not forget due to the ache in your thighs, the shock in your eyes, or anything else remotely like that. Yep.

Elouan, meanwhile, is grinning at you. The bastard's probably waiting for some kind of reaction, because he is the biggest bastard ever, so you turn a glare on him. "I hate you."

"Uh huh, you can tell me all about it. Later. Or now! While you're getting your brains fucked out by my _new toy_." He pauses for a moment, though, _looking_ at you, and you can tell he's waiting to see how comfortable you are. It's kind of cute how careful he is about giving you the space to safeword out, always, but, well.

"You are going to regret this, I hope you're aware of that." _You_ are going to regret this, you're already sure of it. That thing looks...well, you're kind of wondering if you're going to be able to survive three dates today. Thank _fuck_ you'd gotten more used to the, uh. Workouts. "Tell me what I have to do."

What you have to do, apparently, is kick back and relax. He's got one of those cushiony brick thingies he'd had you test out positions on the other day, and it's pretty good at keeping your ass in the air while he fiddles around with adjustments. "The original version wasn't nearly as mobile, but I'm thinking this one should work a lot better? For solo time, at least. For now, you've got me to keep an eye on how it goes."

"You're telling me you're not going to get in on this?"

Even if you'd only meant to tease him, you can't help being a little turned on by the gleam in his eyes. "Did you want me to get in on this?"

This "no stupid questions" rule might have to be revisited. "Would I be butt naked in your apartment if I _didn't_?"

"Point Peixes." Another few mechanical-sounding adjustments, and the rubbery tip of whatever generic looking toy he'd picked out is pressed up against you. "I need to do a few tests first. Ready?"

"Lube." You barely manage to gasp the word out, slippery rubber against your aching, needing, _very_ overstimulated body almost too much to bear.

"Shit, right." Now that's his hand, you're pretty sure, nudging your thighs a little wider apart, and that's one of the squirt-thingy lube applicators that he prefers to use (it's kinda cute, how he doesn't like getting his hands sticky), and _oh_ that's your, you, okay, you're feeling just a little, squishy and sloshy and kind of, weirdly full (you didn't know he had ones that stored that much lube in them), and you grip the brick hard, and—

"How's that? Think you're ready?"

"Yes, yes, please, yes—" Oh god, you want it more than you thought you would after all of the shit he'd pulled, and you're kind of desperate, enough that when he readjusts the toy, you try pushing yourself down on it, not even minding the way lube spills out onto your thighs as you do.

You think you hear him laugh, hear him comment on how eager you are, but, well, you're thinking a lot of things right now and your body can't seem to keep up with your brain and—

Really, you're going to have to stop trailing off or losing your thoughts eventually. Maybe after he's done with you.

For now though, you focus on trying not to die with pleasure. He'd edged you hard enough that it hadn't taken much to tip you over, and now you're gripping at whatever's in reach and trying to ride out the highs as they come, and parse whatever he's saying and you're _so_ desperately close to losing track again that you're coming out the other side, fighting your waning concentration with all the sense you have left in your addled head.

"—and it's two taps for stop, one tap for okay." Elouan looks so earnest and sweet, and your mind is so dizzy and hazed. "Got that?"

You nod, because you think you got that (you don't know why you need to get that, though), and he smiles at you and it floods you with something between _delight_ and _relief_. Maybe you did something right? Said the things you were supposed to say? You'd like to explore that thought a little bit further, if he'll let you, but you're very distracted again before you actually can because _oh hello that's his dick._

Much as you'd like to assume you're just that good at this, you're pretty sure you give in to pure instinct the second it brushes over your lips. No teeth, but he likes it when you use your tongue and he gets flustered by the soft kisses, and when you look up at him with wide, brown eyes you _feel _him twitch against your mouth, and that's all the permission you need to swallow him down to the base.

It's a hell of a lot harder to keep yourself steady and your technique good when you're stuffed full from both ends, and you think he might realize that because his hands tangle into your hair and then, _oh_.

So it's not that Elouan won't or doesn't take control. It's more that he's so _calm_ about it, taking charge naturally and easily from one moment to the next, that when he loses his own grip on his self-control, when he gets a little more aggressive, when he holds your head still and fucks your throat like he's demanding something, well.

You have to admit, it's ridiculously hot.

In this case, it's also perfectly timed.

You're already losing track of things, caught up in the steady _thrust thrust thrust_ of the fucking machine behind you, a pace that Elouan seems to have matched his movements to, and even though you've got no idea how he's doing it, it's so _easy_ to lose yourself in it, and—

So much for not trailing off. Orgasms are distracting, especially when your partner (partners? Does this count as two, you'll have to ask later) keeps fucking you through them, more so when it brings on another orgasm to pull your shaky grasp on sense and reality deep down under.

When you blink yourself back to awareness once more, Elouan's curled up around you, the both of you bundled in blankets. You shift forward, more into his lap, to run your hands through his hair and kiss him quiet, soothing him back down to earth with you once more. Getting to take care of him like this, after he's taken care of you, might be one of your favorite times.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY DRONE SEASON O BELOVED ADMIN DRONE


End file.
